Hidden Scars
by Echo Chambers
Summary: Harry is abused. These are various one-shots, that aren't really related… So far it includes starvation in the second year summer, running away as a young child, and making a friend in school.
1. Chapter 1

_**VERY IMPORTANT NOTE!!!**_

If you are at all familiar with my work – I do have several stories - you will know that I find it extremely difficult to finish any story longer than one chapter. Because of that, I have _many_ little plot bunnies sitting on my desktop feeling very alone, and unwanted. Inspired by others who've made 'Plot bunny Farms' already, I figured I'd give these little ideas a second chance. So, if you want to use one of them, just tell me in a review because I will want to read the story too!

Thanks for bothering to read this note,

Echo

Bunny 1

Warnings: child abuse.

Time: second year summer

Short noon shadows fell upon bed forming black bars not unlike those of a jail cell. Across from the bed sat an open wardrobe. Sharing that wall was a locked door. Even with such basic things, the room was crowded and uncomfortable with only a small path of floor to walk upon. However, the boy lying on the bed didn't feel like walking about. The savior of the wizarding world stared up at the celling, still dressed in his sleep shorts. He had nowhere to go. His wild hair was at that awkward stage between cuts and was very greasy. He hadn't had a shower since June. His glasses were somewhere to his right, he knew that. But Harry didn't feel like looking for them at the moment. His celling needed no close examination; he had stared at it for many hours already. His green eyes blinked slowly and he sighed.

Harry's stomach had stopped growling sometime last week. His ribs had begun to show a month ago. By July he had stopped performing his chores. The Dursley's didn't care; they hired a maid. After casually telling her the small room upstairs was just storage - it needn't be cleaned - all danger had been erased. Harry continued his existence undisturbed and unnoticed. Even his uncle, who for many weeks had been faithful in his daily checkups on his morbid experiment, had forgotten him. The door had not been opened in three days. He had not been fed for even longer, though the exact numbers… time was hazy in his mind as night and day faded into strange changes of light and dark between random but frequent catnaps.

Harry shifted his shoulders and grimaced as his bones rubbed together painfully. Padding tissues had been eaten away by hunger; it even hurt to sit up. Below his room he could hear the murmur in the kitchen of the Dursley's eating lunch. A loud, honking laugh was easily recognized as Piers. Funny, how easily the world accepted his absence. At first, when hunger was fresh and anger was roaring in his ears, Harry had dreamed of someone showing up to say 'hi', or check on him. After all he was their savior and only an apparition away. But July was almost over and no one had bothered to even owl him. It was beginning to feel like some sort of dream. A fairy tale the night had sent to taunt him. Maybe he wasn't really special. Maybe his friends only wanted him for his fame, or perhaps they were just a figment of his imagination. How long had he really been locked up in his room? What if the year had never happened? He was still ten and destined to attend Stonewall High in the fall?

His eyes drifted to Hedwig's empty cage. No, it was real. The cage had become a anchor for his sanity in the last few weeks. Early that summer, when the food was just beginning to dwindle and Vernon was spending the early hours of the morning yelling about "THAT RUDDY OWL!" Harry had suggested, hotly, to just let her go free. Amazingly enough, Vernon's sleep-deprived brain agreed, and Harry had quickly sent her from the back yard with the whispered words, "You need to stay somewhere else. Don't come back here. Meet me at Hogwarts in September, okay girl?" She had blinked in what he could only hope to be a 'yes' and soared off. Now Harry sorely missed her company, but doubted she'd survive the starvation.

Starvation. What was Dumbledore doing as Harry lay in his bed, to weak to move? With a sour smile Harry wondered what sort of important meetings and decisions he was thinking about. What type of tea should he have with his biscuits? What robes should he wear to the big party, the yellow or the purple? Or perhaps his new silver ones - the embroidery was quite wild. On that sour note, still idly imagining what the Headmaster of Hogwarts was doing, Harry fell asleep.

He woke to the sound of the doorbell. Dazedly he heard the door open with a squelch and the high fake voice of Petunia. "Welcome, do come in. Here, I'll take your hats. What a lovely coat, Mrs. Mason," she exclaimed, her voice growing steadily softer as they moved into the dining room. He dimly realized it had to be yet another business dinner. How funny, how perfect, the house seemed with him out of the way. The Dursley's must be overjoyed. As their voices faded to only muffled murmurs, Harry began to fall back asleep when there came a loud POP! His eyes flew open only to catch sight of an incredibly dirty rag. There came a gasp and another POP! He raised a tired eyebrow, and fell asleep.

He slept fitfully, hunger nawing at his insides. He was at Hogwarts, in the Great Hall, looking around for Ron and Hermione, but they were at the Slytherin table. He waved at them, calling them over to join him. They didn't even look at him. They ignored him as Draco smirked from beside them as if to say, "You thought they were your friends? Forget it. Who'd want to be friends with you?"

Food appeared on the table and the students began to eat. Harry eagerly reached for the turkey, but he couldn't hold onto it. It slipped out of his grasp even when he used two hands. He tried to scoot it to his plate, but it refused. He tried to lean down and bite it from the dish, but it hopped away. He was so hungry! The heavy aromas of the feast were torturing him. He reached out for the juice, carrots, salad, ham, but nothing would let him eat it. He looked up at Dumbledore. They mans' blue eyes looked over him as if he didn't exist. Harry was not important. He continued to struggle with the food. The settings swirled and he was staring at it floating before a black background. The food began to dance before his eyes, multiplying and dripping juice. It hovered just beyond reach and every swipe he took at it it avoided with ease. Desperately he tried to hold it but it swerved out of the way with a rattling noise. They rattling noise got louder…

Harry awoke with a start. The room was dark, it was obviously late at night and the loud snores of Vernon could be heard down the hall. Shivering he debated reaching down for the blanket at the foot of the bed. The rattling noise didn't stop. Turning with the speed of a man hundreds of years old, he looked out the window. There with his nose pressed up against the window was the freckle face of Ron! He was sitting in what appeared to be a floating car! Grinning Harry turned a bit more to see him better. He had to be dreaming. Ron's face kept peering through the window; he obviously couldn't find Harry in the pitch black of the room. Harry watched him turn back in the car, and for a heart-stopping moment he thought Ron would leave. But then, another face appeared in sight of the window. The twins had come! A rope was tossed out and tied around the bars. Harry grinned.

The engine revved loudly. Harry winced. If Vernon woke… and with a crunching noise the bars slid straight out of the window. The car dropped a bit, he heard the thump of the bars hitting the grass and watched a hand drop the rope. The car pulled right up to the window and parked. Ron poked him head in, "Harry? You here?"

With a smile still wild on his face Harry tried to say, "Yeah over here!" but all that came out was a raspy cough. "Sorry," he rasped, dry-throated and weak lunged. I'm here." Ron looked worried at his voice

"You okay?"

"Not really," Harry admitted. Ron rushed to climb through the window. "Quiet! Don't wake them!" Ron moved more carefully and jumped inside, followed by the curious twins.

Ron stumbled a bit in the dark. "Where are y -" Ron cut himself off as he saw the figure in the bed. "Harry?"

"Here we go!" whispered Fred from the door. A quiet click and the light flashed on. Harry winced, his eyes smarting from the unexpected light as the three boys gasped out in horror.

"My God."

Every one of his ribs stuck out above his hollowed stomach. His arms, scrawny but slightly muscular only months ago from Quidditch, were bones covered tightly by skin. Even his thighs had lost all extra fat and lay like twigs beneath his jutting hipbones. Familiar green eyes squinted at them from the skeletal body. He smiled, his lips stretched tight against the teeth. "Hey."

They stared, open mouthed, "Are you going to take me away?" he asked them.

"Yes," George told him. The words seem to shake him from his horrified stupor. He nodded again. "Ron and I'll help get him into the car," he told Fred. "Go get his stuff, okay?"

Nod. "It's in the cupboard beneath the stairs," Harry told him. "It's locked. The bottom stair creaks."

Fred whipped out a hairpin with a smile that tried to lighten the mood, but his hands shook and his eyes held no joy. Fred hurried to leave, and Ron walked over to the bed.

"Can you move?" he asked quietly. Harry didn't answer, but saved his breath to struggle to push himself up. It hurt so bad. Biting his lip he finally sat up. George got right beside him. "Mind if I carry you?"

Harry shook his head. Ashamed he told him tightly, "Just get me out." Awkwardly, but attempting to be gentle, George lifted Harry bridal-style in his arms. Two steps and they were at the window. Ron scrambled ahead, and between the two of them they managed to set Harry in the back seat. "Ron, There's a loose floor board beneath the bed, two in from the right…" Ron nodded and jumped back out. Fred appeared moments later with his things. Ron clambered back in the car with his small bundle and they zoomed away leaving a broken window, and lighted room as the only proof of their visit.

Minutes later Harry was once again asleep and the silent brothers sped home worriedly.

The sky was touched with a hint of pink when the car bumped down on the road an hour later. Harry opened his eyes and saw Ron sitting beside him, staring blankly out the window. Harry looked out the window as well. They were coming to a stop before the strangest house he'd ever seen. Chickens were just beginning to scratch about in the house's long shadow. The house itself teetered precariously seeming more magic than wood or stone. It had perhaps began as a normal, ordinary small house, but with one room added there, and another there, it became a dangerous stack of magic and nails and the occasional stone or brick. As soon as the car was stopped, George bolted from the passenger seat. "MUM!" he yelled, racing towards the house. "MUM!"

From the front door came marching a short, plump red headed woman. "Do you have any idea - " she began to lecture, but George cut her off.

"Later. We need help. We got Harry but - " he glanced around at a loss for words. "Come." He took her arm and dragged her to the passenger side where Harry lay still on the seat. Ron held the door open. Molly opened her mouth, and froze, her hand flying to her heart. "Oh my god." she whispered.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and her voice quavered when she spoke. "St. Mungo's, now." She decided. "Boys get back in that car. No, Fred, stay and go wake everyone. Keep them here, but you floo your father. Tell him what happened. What were you thinking, moving him about so much?!" At a run Mrs. Weasley took the drivers seat. Ron looked at her in surprise.

"Got a drivers license with your father back when we were dating," she told him shortly as they buckled in. A quick U-turn and they were off, speeding even faster through the skies.

"Why didn't we just port-key?" Ron asked, glancing worriedly at his sleeping friend.

"Portkey? Can't you see movement hurts him! It'd be worse than apparition and almost as bad as floo! Now hush, I need to concentrate." In the back seat Harry dozed with a wince creased into his face. Beside him George rested a hand on his bony knee in shock. Ron stared over the shoulder of the front seat at him in shock. The car was silent as a graveyard as the three Weasley's made the longest journey of their lives.

In all reality, the car, flying at speeds dangerously fast, took less than half an hour to arrive in London. Courtesy of the invisibility button Molly was able to park right in front of the unused shop disguising St. Mungoes. Punching the button to un-disillusion the car, the mother ordered the boys to stay behind as she sprinted inside.

Her wooden shoes clattered loudly in the you're-a-stranger or I-so-worried silence that fills all hospitals. She cut right in front of the entire line at the receptionist's desk. Men and women glared at her, but she ignored them. This was an emergency.

"There is a line -" the bored woman began, but Molly spoke over her.

"I have a boy in out front. I need healers now, he's too weak to move. Starvation." she blurted out. The curly haired woman behind the desk looked shocked. Stammering she dropped her quill onto the papers in front of her, leaving huge ink stains that blossomed like bleeding flowers over the self-important words. The line behind her gasped as the words she said spread throughout the group. Starvation? The receptionist yanked her wand from where she'd used it like a pencil to put up her hair. A tap on an orange button got a bell chiming by the swinging double doors across the hall.

"Patient out front, severe starvation." Molly even forgot to thank her, as she ran off, shoes clacking, to the exit as four healers in orange emergency robes sprinted from the double doors, robes flying, gloves on. She ran beside them and pointed out the car. With quick wands and efficient movements, the four moved Harry onto a stretcher, told the Weasley's to wait in the Waiting Room and ran back inside in less than five minutes flat. Ron, George, and Molly stared after Harry's corpselike form.

"He's gonna be okay," George said. But none of them believed it.

A/N: Leave a review if you want it, or you just want to comment!

Echo


	2. Chapter 2

Again, this is up for grabs.

Warnings: Child abuse

Time: During Harry's third grade.

Rain was thrumming a heavy beat down on the street of privet drive. It completely distorted the window view of the ground where water was puddling in the rose beds and falling like a waterfall off the rooftop. Water was rushing like a river along the side of the street and roaring down the drains once clogged by old leaves and garbage. One could not see even as far as the tulips just feet away, but one boy seemed to try. With a spray bottle of window cleaner by his feet, a rag held limply in his hand, he leaned against the wall and stared out at the blurry blob of dark colors that was outside. Down the hall behind him and in the kitchen sat his uncle, cousin and aunt chatting loudly as they sat back and sipped wine, or in Dudley's case, ate another brownie. Harry didn't blink and his eyes didn't move, as he looked outside, not caring what he saw. Their conversation was scrambled with the loud voices from the tele, but Harry wasn't listening. His stomach grumbled and he grimaced. Again he had burnt the grilled cheese he had cooked for lunch. Dudley never seemed satisfied. Once it was "all burnt", then "uncooked", then "too small" and then, what he had hoped to be a golden perfection was deemed "too hard". Harry, of course, had been thrown in the cupboard while Petunia fixed him something "edible" to eat. Logically, since Harry had tried to starve his cousin, he lost the privilege of eating dinner.

"BOY!" came the barking voice of his uncle. Snapping out of his daze he ran to the kitchen doorway. "Boy, we are done. Clean up this mess." The Dursley's stood. Petunia turned off the tele Dudley led the way into the living room from where, moments later, the loud tele voices filled the house again. Harry flinched as Vernon shoved past him, with an, "Out of my way, boy!" Quickly, in case Petunia came back to make tea, or Dudley's new favorite, popcorn, Harry began picking up plates and stacking them up on the small counter near the sink. It was a thoughtless job that he had done thousands of times before, and his hands no longer hurt so bad in the hot water. Leaving the dishes to dry for a while, he hurried to the dining room to clear off the food: salad, ice cream, pudding, mashed potatos, rice, and a large plate of ham. His small arms strained to lift the heavy dish. Teetering on his tip-toes he wobbled to the kitchen. Trying with all his might, he attempted to push the dish up to his shoulders, where the counter was. Yet, with a terrifying wobble, it hit the edge - and fell backwards to fall and crush the small boy to the ground with a CRASH!

"BOY!" came the angry yell from the living room. Thundering footsteps pounded down the short hall and Vernon slammed the door open with a BANG! His beet-red face glared down upon Harry's small form. "YOUC CLUMSY BRAT! DAMN YOU, YOU IDIOTIC FREAK! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU TRYING TO DO BY RUINING OUR GOOD PLATES AND FOOD?!!! WHAT, ARE YOU ANGRY BECAUSE WE RIGHTFULLY PUNISHED YOU FOR BEING BAD?!" His face was shining and a vein was throbbing in his temple as he waved his arms around wildly in his rage. "You should be grateful, brat, that we even let you live here. We don't like you, but we are kind enough to put up with your disgusting disrespect and evil actions. Who are the ones who feed you, who clothe you, and give you a place to sleep?! WHY IF IT WEREN'T FOR US - " he shouted, working himself up into a red-eyed rage. "YOU WOULD BE DEAD ON THE STREETS SOMEWHERE OR IN AN ORPHANAGE!!!"

Harry, wide eyed and shaking in fear, was scrambling to pick up the mess. The china kept slipping through his blood covered fingers though and there was a cut on his chest where the plate had ripped through his shirt; it was bleeding shallowly, staining the fabric. Suddenly his uncle yanked him from the floor. "YOU LOOK AT ME WHEN I TALK TO YOU, BOY!" he screamed at him, spit flying. "I'LL HAVE NO MORE DISRESPECT FROM YOU. YOU'RE JUST LIKE YOUR PARENTS, WORTHLESS AND ANGRY!" He pushed Harry away from him, he stumbled and barely missed stepping on the broken china. Harry cowered against the cabinent as Vernon stepped closer.

"I-I'm s-sorry!" he stammered out. "Please, uncle. I'm s-sorry! I didn't mean it!" he pleaded, his eyes wide in fright. "PLEASE!" A meaty fist slammed into his nose. Harry fell to the floor sobbing, clutching at his bleeding nose, his broken glasses lying at his feet. A foot rammed into his side and Harry screamed. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please, uncle, please! Don't hurt me!" Another leg swung at him, smashing into his shoulder. Harry lay there, curled up in a ball, and heard his uncle storm out of the room. He heard him, in the living room as he sat down on the squeaky couch, say, "What did I miss?" As if Harry meant nothing. As if hitting him was like stepping on an ant. It hurt Harry, but no one noticed, it didn't matter to any one else. And lying there, his blood forming a small puddle beneath his dripping nose, Harry felt a cold chill run down his spine before he fell unconcious. What if it was true.

Harry awoke in the dark. The scratchy wool beneath his arms told him he was lying on his bed, in the cupboard. His shoulder ached so he rolled over, that only made his left ribs ache. Reaching a thin hand up above his head he felt for the light string. Click. He flinched as the light attacked his eyes, and the elephants in his head seemed to stomp harder. Everything was blurry as his eyes adjusted to the light, and he sort of wondered where Petunia had put his glasses. The school knew he needed them, and since they didn't want to buy him new ones they'd be sitting somewhere with a new piece of tape on them. There. On the small shelf, she'd put them beside his backpack. Sitting up with a wince and a moan, he took them, and gingerly stuck them on his nose. The dry blood was still there, but his "freakishness" seemed to have healed it quite a bit. Still, as he tried to wipe the blood away with his blanket, it hurt quite a lot.

Above his head and somewhere to the left a loud beeping sound began, Vernon's alarm. It was Monday, his chores: breakfast and school. He hoped he wasn't bruised, the teachers asked such awkward questions. Light footsteps shuffled down the stairs and along the hall. The lock clicked on the door. "Get up, boy." commanded a sleepy Petunia. Harry stood slowly and stepped outside. He knew the drill. Walking quietly to the bathroom he looked in the mirror.

A small, thin, messy haired boy looked back at him. His round black glassed were taped in the middle, and on the left side. There was dried blood on his face still, but thankfully it wasn't bruised. Taking off his glasses, and his shirt to use as a towel, he ran the water. As he carefully scrubbed and rinsed his delicate nose he tried to be optimistic. At least the ribs were only bruised, and his shoulder was not dislocated. Though it was a very dark smudge of purple and blue. Drying his face he finger combed his hair and double-checked for any problems. He needed to wear long sleeves to hide the bruises securely, and his pants were bloodied, they needed changed too… Tugging back on his baggy t-shirt, Harry retreated to his cupboard to change.

The morning went well and thirty minutes later, Dudley and Harry were trudging through the rain puddles and heading off to school. SPLASH! Dudley stomped into a puddle, soaking Harry's pant legs. Dudley scowled at Harry, obviously upset that his "ingenious" plan had resulted in soaking **his** sneakers as well. "Freak!" he spat as he shoved him. Harry yelped as he landed on his bruised shoulder and pain shot down his arm. Sopping wet, and rather angry Harry jumped to his feet.

"Damn you," he growled. Harry's fist swung out to whack Dudley in the arm before he even thought about it.

"POTTER!" screeched the irate voice of Mrs. White. "COME HERE RIGHT NOW!"

Still glaring, Harry's shoulders slouched as he drug his feet down the last three blocks to the crossing guard. "You cannot push your cousin," the frizzy haired teacher scolded. "Shoving people is not okay. I want you to stay inside during recess. Maybe writing some lines will help you remember the rules next time." Harry just looked at his feet, feeling wrongfully accused.

"Yes ma'am," he sighed. Walking across the cross walk he inched towards the front doors where Dudley's smirking face was waiting.

"In trouble again?" he sneered, Piers and Mervin snickering beside him. "You're such a freak!" he laughed. Harry scowled and stormed past them. In second hall his teacher, Mrs. Johnson was standing outside the door.

"Hello Harry!" she greeted him with a smile. When he returned it grumpily she frowned. "In trouble already?" She took his silent scowl for the 'yes' that it was. She sighed. "Oh well, let's just try to make the rest of the day a good one." But it wasn't. Dudley kicked the back of Harry's chair five times during the spelling test, and when he turned around to tell him off shouted "Mrs. Johnson, Harry's looking at my paper!"

Her head snapped up from the word list and her blue eyes settled sharply on Harry. "Stay inside during recess," she ordered.

"He already lost recess for pushing me this morning!" Dudley informed her with a smirk.

"See me before lunch," she decided.

Harry lost music class and spent the hour in time out 'reflecting upon his bad behavior' and had a note sent home to Petunia and Vernon. "I don't know why you keep cheating. We've had this talk before. I really wish you'd start doing your own work for a change."

When the end of school bell rang Dudley pushed Harry aside as he shoved his way to his backpack. Harry fell wildly into Hannah before landing on the floor. "Wait your turn," Mrs. Johnson said from where she was talking with a parent across the room. Harry glared up at the kids around him. A deep rage was welling up in Harry like a wild fire leaping to life from where it had been smoldering beneath the His shoulder hurt like hell, he kept getting in trouble, and it wasn't his bloody fault! Dudley was always getting him into trouble! No one ever blamed Dudley, and it was always his fault!!

Suddenly Dudley, who had been racing for the exit, tripped over something invisible and fell, not forward, but hurtled several feet to his right and slammed into the desks, knocking tow over, and bumping three others. The teacher, parent and everyone else stared. Dudley groaned, and the teacher jumped into action. "Give him room," she said sharply to the children who had rushed over. "Megan, go get Mrs. Carrow in the office, please," she told a near-by student. The wide-eyed girl dashed off. "Dudley, Dudley," she said, crouching down beside him. "Are you alright?" He moaned and began to cry.

"Where are you hurt," she asked him. Harry stared, horrified, as Dudley pointed to his head where blood was already inching down the side of his skull.

"And my b-back hurts," he stuttered out, trying not to cry in front of his friends. After all, they were third graders, and eight year olds didn't cry.

"Alright," said Mrs. Johnson soothingly. "The nurse will be here in a moment, so don't you worry. We'll call your folks and they'll come pick you up."

'We'll call your folks'… **call** your folks. The words sent a jolt of fear through his body. They would know. They would know what Harry had done, that it was his fault. It was all his fault. He was horrible, a bad person. Stumbling slightly, Harry got to his feet and grabbed his backpack. Throwing it around his shoulders so hard it hurt he walked to the door. Mrs. Johnson looked up and said something. Something about staying and waiting with his cousin. He ignored her. The halls were almost empty now. At least five minutes had passed since the bell rang. Harry broke into a run. A teacher yelled at him to stop but he ignored her. He ignored everyone as he pushed past a fifth grader and dodged around a second. Darting past the playground he headed away from his house, away from privet drive.

He hardly knew the streets, but he jogged quickly through the puddles without hesitation. He knew what would happen at home. He knew the Dursley's would know it was he that caused it, that it was his freakishness, that he was bad. He kept running until he could hardly breathe. Then he walked. He walked further than he'd ever gone, past all Dudley's friends' houses, until he came to a strange sight. The strictly patterned housing had died back only blocks from the school, but here, a couple of miles away, the close housing stopped all together. He had only come this far when they had gone to the zoo, the beach, and Uncle Fredricks. The sidewalk disappeared, and soon so did the bike lane. The houses got further and further apart, as Harry walked and he began to regret running. How bad could his uncle be, really. He couldn't prove it was Harry. Harry didn't think it was Harry. What if he just forgave him? What if he didn't blame him? Harry turned around - and realized he didn't know the way back. Slightly panicked now he froze. He was lost. He was wet. His relatives wouldn't come looking for him and who knew what type of people were out there?! A car topped a hill in the distance. He stared. It came closer. Harry wondered if it would stop. The car was so close he could see the person inside.

The woman sped past, splashing a wave of water over him and startling him into the ditch. Shivering, and muddy, Harry pulled himself up the other side of the ditch and looked around. There was a small trail a few feet over. He took it. He didn't want to be on the road any more. His bruises ached, his glasses were dirty and he was scared. Wandering in a few trees he sat down, and cried.


	3. Chapter 3

"Good morning class!" beamed the elderly teacher. "My name is Mrs. Mellon." she had large glasses with melon colored frames. "Now, I know you are all very excited to be back with your friends again," she said, eyeing a whispering huddle of boys reproachfully. "But we have some students who are new to the school this year, so I've made a seating chart for you all. Please pick up all of your things and stand in the front of the room with me." Harry picked up his book, feeling rather apprehensive. He liked his seat, in the back corner and shared with the kind-but-quiet Laura and behind Anna and Kristy who wouldn't pay him any attention. Even better than that, he'd been a whole room length away from his cousin Dudley. Last year the teacher had thought it'd be nice to put them together. He hoped Mrs. Mellon would feel differently. Dudley liked to say mean things about him and get him in trouble.

"I pulled the names randomly," she told the talking class. "So that it would be fair to everyone. Now, pay attention, I'm only going to say the names once. Kelly Renolds," she said touching the first desk lightly. "Aaron Anderson," the small boy who ran on the relay team last year hurried over. "Dylan Hights," The much larger boy who had the reading help last year strode across the room. "Leon Krate," grinned from ear to ear when he found himself sharing the double desk with his best friend. Harry shifted from foot to foot as hear waited to hear his name called. "Love Freeborn," was a strange girl. She was also one of the new students. Love was dressed in overalls, thong shoes that thwacked as she walked and a tie-dye tee-shirt. She plopped down in the seat and put her pencil box in the desk. Harry was so busy thinking up a possible background story for her - one that involved aliens and miss-read maps - he almost missed his name being called. "Harry Potter," Stumbling forward, Harry hurried to the desk he'd share with her. Love grinned at him as he put his plastic bag of five pencils inside the desk.

"I'm Love, but you can call me L. Spell it like the letter." She was being so kind to him! But, he realized dejectedly, that wouldn't last. Dudley was in his class.

"I'm Harry," he told her quietly as Mrs. Mellon kept reading names. With one eye he saw his cousin seated three rows over beside Kathy Marts. She was ignoring him though, in favor of chatting across Mark with Sandy Brown.

Mrs. Mellon cleared her throat and the class quieted. "Welcome to second grade," she smiled. "Since I don't know you yet, there is a game I'd like to play. Everyone, get out a sheet of paper and a pencil." After the scuffling of paper and snapping opening of pencil boxes, she continued. "Write the number one on your paper and I want you to write down your answer to this question. I don't want anyone to talk. In a moment you will all get the chance to share answers. The question is: What is your favorite part of school? Answer that on the paper; don't talk. What is your favorite part of school?"

Beside him, L was writing, erasing and meticulously re-writing her letters. Harry glanced at her paper, and found the letters beautifully formed and casually interrupted by tiny drawings. Harry glanced at his paper. 'I like to reed.' he scrawled.

"Is everyone finished?" Mrs. Mellon asked as Travis and Piers began to talk. At the general mass of nods and murmured yes's Mrs. Mellon went on. "What type of pet do you have? And, if you don't have a pet, what type would you like?"

L was again writing at her slow, careful pace. Three words later, Harry found L once more filling her paper with a drawing. Harry scratched down. 'i hav Spidrs.' and gasped in pain as Piers, to his left, snuck out wild foot and kicked him in the shin. L glanced at him worriedly, and Mrs. Mellon frowned at him. Harry looked down firmly at his paper and drew a spider but it wasn't as good as L's picture. Already Piers was after him. It was not going to be a good year.

The game was fun, Harry admitted as he listened to Love tell the class all about the dragon she wanted. "Dad says I can get one when I'm older. But I have to be fourteen before I can ride him to school."

By recess it had been decided. Love was the **coolest** person Harry had ever met. However, it was all going to end when they got outside, he knew it. So it was with a heavy heart that he dumped his lunch tray and trudged out to the playground. Over at the swings L was laughing with Kristy and Anna. She waved when she saw Harry. "Come over here Harry!" she called. While the gesture was kind and made Harry smile, it also alerted Dudley and Piers that Harry hunting could now begin. From the basketball hoop to his right Dubley sauntered over. "Got a girlfriend Freak?!" He taunted.

"No!" Harry protested

"Obviously. 'Cause no one'd ever like you," he sneered triumphantly. Piers snickered. Sneaky blue eyes found the recess monitor helping Jake with a badly scraped up knee. A chubby fist punched into his shoulder. Harry staggered, wide eyed and scared. Piers had moved to stand behind him. On his left Zack was standing menacing and Davy looked ready for a chase. Panicked, he wished the recess monitor wasn't so oblivious. The fleshy hand raised again menacingly when it froze. There, holding Dudley's fist with remarkable strength and courage - for a girl - was Love Freeborn. In her scruffy overalls and tangled brown hair she looked rather frightening as she glared at Dudley with burning eyes.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" she growled, her fingers white in their furious grip. Dudley looked shocked at her.

"He's a freak," he stated as if it explained everything.

"A freak, eh?" and for a frightening moment Harry thought she agreed. "Then what, pray tell, should I call a mother fucking bully like you?" Dudley stared, openmouthed. Then wrenched his hand away.

"You said a bad word."

"Yep." Dudley's mouth didn't close. "Stay away from Harry," she warned. There was no need for an 'or else'. The tone said it all. Dudley and Piers scampered away. Kristy and Anna, who'd been watching the whole thing, looked slightly confused. Harry stared at L. Only minutes later when the recess monitor had finished putting the polka-dotted band-aid on Jakes knee did Harry's speech returned.

"You don't think I'm a freak?" She shook her head. "Wanna go play on the wing set?" She smiled and they ran off. The grin didn't leave Harry's face until his uncle backhanded him later that night. He finally had a friend.

~0~0~0~

L was friends with lots of people. In the classroom she was very smart and very creative. Dudley hated her for it. At lunch she talked with who ever she sat by and often she was invited to sit by, play with, or go to birthday parties with the other kids in class. She accepted often, but always made sure to save a seat for Harry. His peers remained distant and never talked much to him, but Harry didn't mind. L was truly his best friend. They played in the neighborhood park together, a place they both could walk to on their own - Harry because the Dursley's didn't care how far away he went, and L because she lived only three houses away. There, L taught Harry all about Dragons and magic and elves, (things which he made sure never to speak of in front of his relatives) and she let him be a child for once. They gazed at clouds and climbed trees. They played fantasy games and talked a lot. Later Harry would think back on those years with L as the best years of his life.

However, all good things seem to get cut short for Harry Potter.

It was a hot summer day that Harry would remember well. The leaves were green and the grass they lay on was dry and prickly. L was being unusually quiet, and when Harry pointed out a passing butterfly she didn't jump to her feet to chase it. Harry sighed. "What's up L?"

She was quiet for a little longer, gazing up at the clouds. She was blinking a lot too. "That there's a dragon." she told him. "Do you remember, when I first met you, you didn't know what a dragon was?" Harry nodded and waited for her to continue. "Makes me feel like Mary Poppins, leaving just when you know it all and everything's great."

Pause. "Leaving?!" Harry asked, horrified and dreading the answer.

"Yeah," she sighed. Then in a voice that was slightly choked she told him, "Grandma's real sick so when Mum got the chance, she volunteered to be transfered to the office in America. She's leaving today. Dad an' I have to leave on Wednesday."

"But that's in a week…" She nodded, blinking even more.

"I don't want to go…" her voice trailed off and they both gazed at the clouds in silence. "That's a buffalo. They have those in America. I saw them before I moved here. They're huge. When you come to visit, I'll have to show you. There's a whole herd of them only an hour away from the neigborhood."

"I'll miss you." Harry confided, the simple words meaning the world to both of them, knowing how little he spoke of emotions.

"I'll miss you too Harry. I'll miss you."

"Write?"

"Yeah."

Wednesday came way too soon. The blue house Harry had spent the last two years pausing at to wave to L or her long-haired, strange-smelling, cigarette-smoking father was empty. He had hugged her goodbye, written his address on paper in her suitcase, pocket, her father wallet, her diary, and even scrawled in on her hand with a sharpie. He stood in the road waving long after they'd disappeared from sight, L's crying face burned into his eyes. A honk of a rude car forced him from the pavement. He walked sadly to the old swing set that they'd played on so many times before. Suddenly it felt so unwelcoming. Everything was quiet without her laughter. The world was empty without her smile. He left the park and wandered. Walking just to move, he made it back to the Dursley's long after curfew. The red face of his uncle met him in the hall. "Get in, boy!" he hissed.

A punch sent feeling back to his senses. A backhand to the cheek sent his glasses flying. It was strange how much clearer it all was without them. The angry blob of flesh that was his uncle grabbed him by the hair and pulled him to the cupboard. "Disrespectful -" he was muttering. "rude, insolent, brazen, ungrateful freak!" The wall suddenly opened - he knew it was his cupboard door but the edges had disappeared with his glasses - and Harry was pushed inside. Hidden. Hated. In the dark he knew that above his head, scrawled in a green crayon was written the word: Home. Yeah right. Hell was more like it.

L was gone. He couldn't wait for a letter.

A letter came a week later. He saw it, even got a glance at the familiar tilted scrawl of pen that was written with an awkward left-hand, before Uncle Vernon tossed it sadistically into the flames of the gas burner. And then Harry knew: he would never get to read a single letter from Love Freeborn. That night he cried himself to sleep. He hoped L would understand.


End file.
